


i can't go for that

by ToAStranger



Series: Wicked Game(s) [3]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 10:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19439317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: Just a glimpse into life after Wicked Game.





	i can't go for that

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my docs for ages.

“I just don't wanna talk about it, okay?” Steve says, tugging at the tie that's been strangling him all day, that he's been struggling with for the last five minutes, trying to claw his way out of the stupid monkey suit he has to suffer wearing five days a week and sometimes weekends. “Can we just --? Can we drop it? Please?”

Billy's arms are crossed and he's fresh out of the shower, sweatpants low on his hips -- and he looks so _ damn _ inviting. Steve wants to curl into him, press his face to Billy's neck and breathe. 

“No,” Billy says, and Steve plops onto the edge of the bed with a groan, burying his face in his hands. “I've told you. That shit doesn't fly, baby. Not when it bothers you.”

“I'm fine,  _ baby _ .” Steve holds out his arms, as if for inspection, smile tight and slapped onto his face. “See? Fucking fine. Okay?”

This is an old argument. Steve's already done with it. 

He knows it's because he's tired. He hasn't been sleeping well,  _ at all _ , and he knows it's starting to get too Billy, too. That the ever increasing nightmares, the closer and closer they get to the end of October, are taking their toll on both of them and testing the limits of patience. 

It's one of those things that Billy had to get used to, living under the same roof and sharing the same bed. The first time Steve had woken up screaming, in a cold sweat, Billy had lost himself in Steve's own terror -- hadn't been able to fish him out, to keep him from drowning, when he was too busy treading water himself. It had bothered Billy  _ endlessly _ , that he hadn't been there for Steve, and he'd doubled his efforts ever since -- soothing him out of fear clinging to his head like cobwebs, snarling at anyone who looked their way when they went out, practically circling Steve like he was fragile and needed to be protected. 

It was driving Steve _ crazy _ . 

Especially considering the harassment Billy sometimes still got from his dad, if they ever crossed paths. Though, Hopper was pretty good at hedging that off, slapping fines on Neil and locking him up in the drunk tank more than once.

It'd gotten so bad, back in August, that CPS had been tapped and were monitoring the Hargrove house to make sure Max wasn't seeing any of that anger or vitriol Neil seemed to freely spit in Billy’s direction. Neil couldn't pull roots and move again, though --  _ this is how it started in California _ , Billy had said-- he didn't have the money. 

And it isn't like Neil is the only one. There's a good chunk of the town that still stare down their noses, still give them a wide berth, still catch Steve-- always Steve, never Billy; Billy scares the piss out of everyone -- off guard with a comment at the supermarket, or a loud, disparaging conversation when he's out running errands. 

It isn't like it's easy. Like, magically, being bonded and living under the same roof magically fixed everything-- or even that things are perfect behind closed doors. But most of Hawkins doesn't seem to care. Some even find their bond proof enough to leave them be, proof enough for them to be celebrated, or, at the very least, respected. 

It helps that they're friends with the Chief of Police. 

But it doesn't stop everyone. 

“No,  _ not okay _ .”

Steve sighs. “Billy, c'mon --”

Billy shifts, body going a little tighter through the chest. Like his arms are crossed, caged, keeping all the feelings in. He’s good at that, reigning himself in when he’s trying to help Steve.

“Look, I know you’re all for putting on a smile and pretending everything is fine, but I’m no good at that shit. And it feels a hell of a lot like lying.”

Steve's shoulders drop. His hands, too. Then, his whole body, flopping back onto the comforter with a grunt. 

He feels like he's suffocating in this stupid suit. Thinks about that squirmy, slimy brown noser, Andrew, at the office -- another alpha, a promising graduate from Indianapolis moving into the accounting department -- looking at the creases in his slacks Steve hadn't bothered to iron out, leaning in by the Mr. Coffee in the employee lounge, and saying  _ shouldn't you be in a skirt _ , like it was some kind of joke, and not like he was mocking Steve's relationship with his _ bondmate _ .

“It's fine,” Steve says, up to the lazy swing of the ceiling fan, but it sounds hollow, and Steve knows Billy knows he doesn't mean it. “Just a long day. I just want out of this stupid fucking suit. Okay?”

Billy probably makes a face, because Steve can hear him make a noise deep in his throat, can feel the thrum of  _ not-quite-resignation _ through their bond, but he doesn’t see it. Instead, he just sees the white ceiling, because it’s easier than meeting Billy’s eyes.

Billy’s there in his face after a beat, anyway, leaning over Steve with a frown. 

“Then, let’s get you out of the suit.”

With careful hands, Billy slides the fabric off of Steve, undressing him and manhandling him a bit to do it, too. The jacket goes first, hung over the back of a nearby chair. Then, the buttons of Steve’s dress shirt, until he’s sliding that off Steve, too.

Steve sits and lets Billy strip him. Feels better, a little lighter, a bit more like he can breathe, with each piece that Billy peels off of him. 

He watches as Billy crouches to unlace his shoes, wiggles his toes a little when he slides one off, and smiles, for the first time all day, when it earns a snort from Billy.

“Dunno why you keep doing it,” Billy says, putting Steve’s shoes down on the ground after pulling Steve’s socks off, too. “A job you hate, I mean.”

“It pays well,” Steve says, and it's _ true _ \-- he's making a lot of money doing nothing more than follow his dad around and look at insurance policies all day, trying and failing to help calculate risks and potential pitfalls for the companies his dad's business consults with-- but when Billy looks up at him, Steve relents. “What else could I do, Billy?”

“Literally anything else that doesn’t make you come home like this every day.”

Billy falls back on his knees, resting his ass on his feet. Staying on the ground below Steve with a warm hand wrapped around Steve’s ankle. 

“Look,” Billy says. “Hopper’s offered you a job. Or you could do something else. Right now, I’m bringing in enough that you could take some time and figure it out.”

“I took the whole summer, putting this off. I can't just quit after a couple of months.” Steve says, and he's quietly grateful for Billy’s hand on his skin, anchoring him. “And I don't…  _ hate _ the work. It's just… I don't _ get _ it. And I come away feeling so damn  _ stupid _ , so  _ useless _ \--”

“Hey,  _ hey _ ,” Billy says, leaning forward until he’s resting his chin on Steve’s knee. “You’re not stupid and you’re not useless. You’re just doing something you’re not interested in. That’s not your fault. And hey, look, you were a  _ little busy _ this summer.”

And it’s true. Billy had kept him real busy, all summer.

Steve sighs, but his mouth goes crooked and his face soft. He leans forward, curves over, and plants a kiss to the top of Billy's head. 

“Didn't stop you from working,” Steve says. “How was work today?”

“True,” Billy agrees. “But I don’t hate it. And it doesn’t make me come home wanting to crawl out of my skin, so. Anyway, it was fine. Fixed some roofs.”

Like always, Billy seems tired, but he always is, after a full day of work, especially with the lingering summer heat. The sun’s rays have been kind to Billy, though -- keeping him tanned and golden and bright. He’s a little looser these days, given that he has an outlet for so much physical energy, but maybe that’s just Steve’s influence, nothing more. 

“I'm glad,” Steve says, breathes against Billy's curls, still damp, and breathes in the scent of shampoo before pulling back. “And I don't _ hate _ it, okay? It's just… a little boring. And the  _ assholes _ my dad hires--  _ Jesus _ .”

Billy hums, inky black disbelief creeping in between the two of them. And Steve knows he’s going to argue that Steve  _ does _ hate his job -- right before his attention catches on Steve’s last words. 

Billy looks up, his eyes narrowing. “Was someone being an asshole to you?” 

It’s not really a question. 

Steve shrugs, but his gaze strays. “Just some new guy, posturing and shit.”

Billy frowns. “Yeah? And?” 

Steve knows Billy isn’t going to let this drop, because he’s like a dog with a bone, once he gets his sights set on something. Because he knows Steve too well, now. Because Steve is usually better about brushing stuff off than Billy.

So if Steve is struggling to let one comment go, Billy knows it's enough to be bothered by. 

“He's just some alpha knothead,” Steve says. “Nothing special about what he said. Nothing  _ new _ . It's not a big deal.”

But even just remembering it traps Steve in the same rush of icy shame he'd felt -- embarrassment prickling along his scalp -- when it had happened. He'd spent all day, quiet and agitated, because of it. 

One stupid, nonsense comment from someone who doesn't know anything about Steve or Billy or their bond.

Steve knows that Billy feels the shame, the anger, the rush of everything all at once. He knows, because he feels a responding rush of calm -- and he also feels Billy reaching up, warm palms on either side of Steve’s face. 

“Hey. It’s a big deal if it’s got you feeling like this,” Billy says. “What’s his name?”

Steve gives him a dry look, but presses into his touch. “You're not gonna punch him.”

“Uh huh,” Billy says. “Scout’s honor. What’s his name?”

Billy, as Steve knows, was never a boy scout. 

“Andrew,” Steve says, curling his fingers over Billy's wrists. “You're  _ not _ gonna punch him. He works for my dad. He's one of those guys that wouldn’t hesitate pressing charges.”

Billy makes a face, which means that he was fully intending on punching Andrew, or worse. “Can you be arrested for threatening someone?” Billy asks, too serious for it to be a joke.

“ _ Yes _ , Billy.” Steve says, but he's laughing now, too, leaning in and catching his mouth. “Besides, it was hardly a threatenable offence.”

“Anyone who makes you come home like  _ that _ is worth threatening,” Billy says.  _ Or worse _ , he adds, under his breath. 

“All he did was say I should be wearing a skirt,” Steve huffs. “As if taking your bite makes me somehow lesser. Or, for that matter, that being an omega or a woman or -- I dunno, someone who wears  _ skirts _ is somehow lesser. It was a stupid comment. It shouldn't even bother me that much. I'm just… tired. I let it get to me.”

Billy makes another noise, somewhere between sad and angry. 

“He shouldn’t get to fucking talk to you like that.”

“I agree,” Steve says, then smiles, curving his hand over Billy's jaw, tries to lighten the mood and the heavy weight settling over them. “Besides, I'd look great in a skirt.”

Billy, unfortunately, isn’t having it. He catches his lip between his teeth and bites it, worrying at it for a moment before talking again. 

“This happen a lot?” he asks. 

“People telling me I should wear a skirt?” Steve asks, tries for dumb instead. 

“People giving you shit. They don’t give me shit, but,” Billy trails off, lips twisting into an even deeper frown. 

“Sometimes,” Steve gives, shrugging a shoulder. “Not often. Rarely to my face.”

Behind his back, however, when he can still hear, is a completely different story. 

“It get you upset every time?”

Billy’s fingers brush over Steve’s ankle again, smoothing over skin, over Steve’s leg hair. 

“No,” Steve says, and it's honest. “Just stupid people saying stupid things. But -- sometimes, yeah. I don't like -- I don't like that they _ want _ me to feel ashamed. I don't want to feel ashamed. Not about this, or you, ever. But, sometimes, it's just… too much to tune out. Harder when I'm tired.”

“Baby,” Billy says. “You shouldn't have to deal with that shit.” 

But Billy looks torn up, upset, unable to help. Steve can feel it all in the space between them. And he also can feel something more, something more jagged. 

“I'm sorry,” Billy says. “That you have to deal with this shit.”

_ That I can't help, _ Steve hears, in his tone. 

“It's not your fault, Billy.” Steve says, and he reaches for him, taking his face between his palms. “It's not your fault, and it's not mine. You don't need to be sorry.”

“I should be able to help,” Billy says, leaning into Steve's hands. “I should be able to protect you. Provide for you. And shit.”

“You don't have to do any of that,” Steve says, and he cards his fingers into Billy's hair. “And this? Just… having you here, touching me-- hell, stripping me down -- reminds me that I don't give a shit about what anyone says. Just _ you _ . Having you here. That's enough.”

“Sometimes,” Billy says. “Sometimes it doesn't seem like it's enough. I feel so fucking useless to you.”

Billy grabs Steve's hands and brings them to his mouth, kissing his fingers with soft lips. 

“I just don't like seeing you down, is all,” Billy says. 

“Billy,” Steve breathes, eyes on his face, soft in the dull early evening light pouring through their blinds. “You're everything to me.”

“Yeah, me too,” Billy says. “Which is why your happiness is everything to me.”

“But you make me happy,” Steve says. “And you know what would make me happier?”

“Hm?” Billy hums, kissing at Steve's knuckles, mouthing over his finger tips. Running his thumbs over the skin on Steve's palms. “Tell me, baby. What would make you happier?”

“Well, I mean, probably a few beers, some extra cheesy pizza, and a stupid movie.” Steve says, grinning when Billy rolls his eyes, but his voice is soft when he adds: “but right now, I think you, on this bed with me, kissing me until I forget my stupid, shitty, no good day. Until all I can think about is you.”

“Well  _ that _ ,” Billy days, pushing himself up from his knees, “I can do.”

And he does.


End file.
